


What it's Like to Kiss a Ghoul

by Momjeans



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, This is very short, alcohol tw, but i had an idea that needed to b done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:31:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momjeans/pseuds/Momjeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both drink like its a chore, just something that takes up time before actually getting the effects. Hancock of course is cross faded already off of god knows what and Ophelia's head starts swimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What it's Like to Kiss a Ghoul

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this in bed on my iphone notes oops enjoy

The third rail stank of sour hooch, and unforgiving liquor. A sleepy slur filled the air and not a single person was sober. Hancock sauntered in and slipped through to the bar, like a ghost without a trail. Ophelia followed close, a stiff back and ears perked off the comedown of a mentat dose. She could feel eyes glued to her, sweaty palms and anticipation. Strangers kept looking over their shoulder and by their drinking glass to snag a glance at her.

Paranoia. Fuck, paranoia. She reminded herself that she took that psycho in a single desperate moment and now she'll be paying the price for the next three weeks.

Skin peels off her bottom lip when she bites it, and she almost tastes blood but she does not bleed that easy. Her elbows rest up against the corner of the bar and Hancock's head dips beneath, and he reaches for a bottle or two. He uncorks one, with just his thumb and a satisfying pop rewards him. The bottle is half full, and he tips it back through his lips and does not flinch at the poison taste.

She can smell it from where she's standing. Vodka. Jesus it's been ages since she's had real vodka.

The smell makes her remember rubbing alcohol she would spread on a splinter, or a papercut and then immediately blocks out prewar memories, and tries to ride out the last effects of her mentat dose.

Hancock licks the fiery liquid off his lips, and savors the burning in the back of his throat. He blinks and a slurred voice tries to talk to him.

"John..."

Fuckin Maccready.

Hancock's head perks to the side as if he's giving him permission to keep speaking.

"You partying tonight? Usually you only take one bottle" he sinks over the bar, drunk and slow. Maccready only gets wasted one night a week, and when he does it's embarrassing for everyone involved, so much so that he's never gained a drinking buddy. The closest he's had to that is Charlie handing him glasses of lukewarm ale.

Hancock doesn't answer and grabs two nuka colas for chaser, tucking them under his arm. He hasn't used chaser since he was a kid but he knows that rum and cola is her drink of choice.

Maccready eyes Ophelia standing station at the end of the bar and he decides that she's just cool enough for him to pick on her.

"Hey why... Why are you always on Hancock's heels, you his pet or something?" He slurs

She shoots him a look to kill, but not enough recognition to grant him validation.

"What, you don't have a girl following you around Maccready?" Hancock talks back, a half smile on his face.

"Bodyguard" Ophelia says and her voice is smooth.

Hancock swings around the bar, almost chuckling and mutters "yeah, you would like that wouldn't you"

Ophelia smirks to herself and they make their way to the stairs out.

"Take it easy Maccready" Hancock waves with one hand up, and holds the two other bottles by the neck between his fingers in the other hand.

\-----

The old state house smells like dust and a little like vomit. Like it always does.

Hancock's boots are familiar when they scuff up the steps to his quarters, which smells of stale cigarette smoke from Fahrenheit.

At the far counter Hancock grabs a dirty glass, and pours the vodka for himself in a shallow pool, neat.

"Glass?" He asks her, before tipping the tumbler back and taking his second shot of the night.

"No, I'll just take it from the bottle" she answers leaning up against the counter cooly.

"Suit yourself" he mutters and he passes her the rum, and two nuka colas. She twists off the cap on one and pockets it. She pours a sip of rum into her mouth first and immediately follows it with a healthy sip of the cola, Savoring her favorite taste around her tongue and swallowing.

"So you just mix your drinks right in your mouth?" Hancock says like it's almost disbelief.

" S' how I did it when I was a kid" Ophelia answers and again she does not think about getting drunk in the suburbs with her friends. She does not think of kissing her best friends on dares and does not think about hopping fences to neighbors yards.

They both drink like its a chore, just something that takes up time before actually getting the effects. Hancock of course is cross faded already off of god knows what and Ophelia's head starts swimming.

It surprises her and Ophelia might be the only one who can tell, but Hancock is a fucking lightweight when it comes to drinking.

He hides it, he tries his best to coordinate his steps and not trip over himself, and really really tries to keep his movements sturdy instead of dramatic and fluid.

Ophelia cracks a closed smile and chuckles when he says "fuck it I'm already gone"

He feels his tongue around in his mouth and says "so general, good to be off duty for a while?"

"God yes" she says with another swig of her drink.

"Must be nice getting away from that uh... That guy"

"Which one" she looks to him "I know lots of guys"

"The hat one"

"Preston" she assures him

"Yeah yeah him" he swings around "Why.. Why does he always act like he's got a stick up his ass, I mean it's exhausting" he says furrowing his brow and all his words connecting into one.

"No stop it he's sweet" Ophelia argues "and he works fucking hard too I'll defend that kid any day"

Hancock chuckles "I can be sweet too"

Ophelia knows he can, but wants to argue anyways for the fun of it and says "no you can't" with a sip of nuka cola.

"Of course I can" Hancock whines, stepping back and presenting himself with open arms "I'm gentlemenly. I've also got a cooler hat"

"I don't think the hat ranks you over him" she laughs.

"Yes, it absolutely does" he swings back near her, and his face is just closer to hers than it usually is. It's all the difference 5 inches of "closeness" can make.

"I can be sweet" he repeats, this time looking at her, his black eyes with faint pupils staring, blinking as if expecting something.

Ophelia thinks about kissing him. She wonders what it's like to kiss a ghoul. She can feel the heat of blood rushing through his skin coming off of him. Maybe she's just imagining it.

She licks her top teeth and says "yeah but you're still cocky"

Hancock does not back away from his closeness. Ophelia still has her back leaning against the counter and Hancock is in front of her, still drunk as hell. He moves his hands to rest them on the counter, right on either side of her hips; encasing her like she'll have no where to go if she moves. But she doesn't move.

"I can be sweet" he says a third time but this time it's shy. He blinks again and he moves his lips less confidently. The way he's blocking her with his arms does not intimidate her; he's doing this but somehow he makes it the most non threatening thing.

Ophelia looks at his lips, and then his dark eyes, and kisses him hard.

Her tongue reaches into his mouth and this is nothing like she expected.

She expected him to taste like death. Like rotting flesh and she expected a rough tongue and half his back teeth missing.

But Hancock is all warmth and softness and she loves it. And he tastes like... Candy, he tastes like fucking grape candy.

Mentats.

Hancock melts into her, and she swears he moans into her mouth. He grabs her by the small of their back and their body's press together, closer than ever and they still kiss each other, deep.

His lips are scarred. She can feel the rough skin but they're still warm with vodka lingering. Every second just makes her want more and she grinds up against him. They still kiss wetly and sloppily with the liquor swimming in their skulls. Hancock surprises her, nipping her bottom lip between his teeth and then they break away from each other. A small smile cracks over his face and she licks her lips, and looks directly into his eyes to ask for more without speaking a word.

**Author's Note:**

> there you go its my headcanon that Hancock actually just tastes like grape candy all the fricken time


End file.
